


and in my heart, we were whole

by bwyn



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwyn/pseuds/bwyn
Summary: Yona has lived eighteen years within the palace walls, waking to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of fresh fruit and pastries. Her childhood best friend provides her with wit and snark to combat, and her love gives her smiles and kindness. They are together, and Yona is content.Yet something doesn't feel right.





	and in my heart, we were whole

**Author's Note:**

> I love akayona with the burning intensity of a thousand suns and I've never attempted their characterization so there is nothing I can do to do it justice in my own eyes but I'LL BE DAMNED IF I DON'T AT LEAST TRY.
> 
> thanks @ [yui](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yuisaki) for pressuring me till I break. again.

Yona wakes to birds chirping outside her window. She sighs, a flicker of annoyance, and rises with her hair a scarlet halo around her head. An impatient comb through with her fingers only manages to get them caught. Already grumpy, she flicks off her sheets and steps to the window. A breeze filters through, rustling her nightgown and cooling her face.

Squinting at the birds hopping about the tree directly outside, Yona waves a groggy hand at them. “Quiet, you! Have some respect for your princess.”

The birds only chatter louder at each other. 

Sensing a losing battle, Yona turns away just as the handmaiden precedes herself with a gentle knock on the door. She bears a tray of fruit and light pastries and a gilded comb. Irritation at being woken assuaged, Yona returns to her bed to eat while the attendant brushes her hair into some semblance of tidy. 

The day doesn’t seem so tiresome once Yona has a belly full of gentle foods and soft hair painstakingly freed of static with a touch of oil. She allows herself to be dressed, creams and oils lathered into her skin, a touch of pink to her lips. Yona studies herself in the floor-length mirror.

Her hair will always be a bother, but she expects the rest of herself to be worthy of a princess. Tilting her chin up, Yona finds a pose most regal and smiles. She looks royal this morning, but something is amiss.

“Your Highness,” murmurs her attendant with a smile. “Do you wish to wear Lord Soowon’s gift to you?”

Oh, that’s it. Yona nods twice more than necessary, and shares in her handmaidens’ giggles as they twist up her hair with the beautiful hairpin she received two years before. 

Now, she looks beautiful.

Outside her room stands Hak, scratching at the bridge of his nose. His gaze slides down to Yona as she twirls in the hall.

“How do I look?” she asks.

“The embodiment of half the land’s taxes?”

“Oh, you—!” 

He easily dodges her kitten punches, dancing about her like he’s a court jester and not her guard. Spinning on her heel, Yona crosses her arms tight and marches away. She can’t sense Hak’s presence behind her, but she knows he’s following. He’ll always be where she wants him to be—although his tongue could use some fixing.

Yona practically bounces down the steps to the east gardens, where the rising sun glimmers warmly over the pond and floating lilies. Right where she expects him to be, Yona’s gaze finds Soowon. He’s as warm and bright as the morning sun, as fresh as the dew that pearls on shaded flowers. Yona’s steps are soft but her clothes brush grass, alerting Soowon to her arrival. 

The smile he gives her is a gift she may never grow bored of.

“You’re up early,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice.

Yona barely stops herself from pouting, though her blush is less inclined to obey. “The birds,” she says by way of explanation.

“Of course, they’re not as keen to sleep in.” Soowon’s eyes lift to where Hak stands at Yona’s shoulder. His gaze, always gentle, softens even more. “Good morning, Hak.”

“Good morning, my lord,” says Hak in that way of his that always sounds like a joke.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday celebrations,” says Soowon as Yona joins him on the bench overlooking the pond, Hak lounging against the nearest tree. “If you’ll still have it, I brought a gift.”

“Oh!” Yona’s hand goes to the ends of her hair. “Of course, anything from you I will treasure.”

Impressed by her own boldness, Yona ducks her head. Too late, she remembers the hairpin, and feels her flush intensify. Soowon laughs softly, and Yona feels something—his hand?—brush the braid the pin holds in place.

“Actually,” he says, “it matches.”

From his robe he pulls out something smaller than his fist, wrapped in green paper. Yona lifts her head to accept it with a pleased smile that grows wider with awe when she unwraps the bangle. It matches the colouring of her hairpin, though it looks more like gleaming scales than flower petals. Regardless, Yona holds it to her chest. Already it is dear to her.

“Thank you, Soowon,” she says warmly.

“Well put it on then,” says Hak. “I don’t think it’s meant to be worn on your washboard—”

“ _ Hak!” _

Soowon laughs into his silk sleeve. The gleam of his eyes is enchanting. Yona has to look away, lest she accidentally fumble with the bangle as she puts it on her wrist. Once on, she holds out her hand to admire it. For a moment her eyes linger on the soft, prim cuticles of her hands, then she’s gazing once more at the bracelet and its coloured enamel.

At her request, the three of them take a stroll around the garden. The day is proving to be a mild one, with a light breeze that tickles Yona’s warm cheeks. Soowon is in an especially good mood, and while Yona feeds off his gentle aura and finds patience where before she might find indignance, she knows Hak is just as easily tempered. His quips feels more good-natured than usual, his smiles coming easier. He laughs at Yona’s jokes, and she feels as though she’s succeeded at something, drawing out that seldom heard sound. 

“It would be a lovely day to visit the market,” says Yona casually.

Soowon falters, imperceptibly if not for Yona’s keen attentiveness to him. “Hm, not today.”

“Why not?” She pouts before realizing how unladylike it is.

Soowon murmurs something that sounds very much like  _ I wonder _ before smiling down at her. There’s something off about it, but Yona doesn’t think too hard. 

“Another day, perhaps?” he suggests.

“But today, the weather is—”

“Princess,” says Hak. “There are many more days.”

She turns to look at her guard, mouth open to retort, but Hak’s eyes are on Soowon. She decides to drop it.

That isn’t to say she’s not going to visit the marketplace  _ anyway _ , however. The palace compound is sprawling, but she knows the walls surround only a tiny portion of the city. The world is beyond, and it is large. Besides, she’s eighteen, not some child who needs an escort. 

Yona repeats this to herself when noon rolls around and Hak and Soowon are comfortable.  _ Complacent  _ is the word she’ll use on Hak when she returns, smug and carrying treats they don’t usually bother making in the palace, but ones that she knows Soowon enjoys and will forgive her for.

She doesn’t question the swell of confidence when she wraps herself in a cloak, the hood resting over her unmistakable hair. This feels familiar, though the soft fabric is much too gentle against her even softer fingers. That doesn’t seem right, but Yona has a mission to accomplish. She can think about that later.

The guards at the gate are allowing several empty carts to pass with their horses and merchants. Nobody bothers to check if anyone is  _ leaving _ the palace grounds. Yona slips out easily with the merchants—but she isn’t the only one.

“You  _ have _ been growing bold, Princess,” drawls a voice by Yona’s ear.

She squeaks her alarm and whips around, heart thundering. Upon seeing Hak’s cocked eyebrow, she screws up her face in a scowl. He straightens, his wrapped glaive balancing against one shoulder. To think he had the time to prepare his weapon before catching up to her. Yona sighs.

“Since we’re out  _ anyway _ ,” she drawls in mimicry of her guard, “we might as well buy some treats!”

Hak’s eyebrows slide up further. “Princess.”

“Yes, Hak?”

“Did you even bring a purse?”

“I—” She cuts off. Oh, that’s a good point. 

“I thought not.” He snorts and tugs back the edge of his overcoat to show off the leather pouch hanging pretty from his belt. “One of us has to be prepared around here.”

“You  _ are _ my guard,” Yona mumbles, but then she brightens. “Does this mean we can walk around?”

“Not for too long, otherwise Soowon will get lonely.”

“Then let’s be quick.”

“What are you planning on getting?” asks Hak as Yona flounces down the road to the market. 

“A return gift for Soowon!”

“Like?”

“Street food!”

She bounds to the first stall she sees, but another smell draws her to the opposite side, and then again she’s distracted by a savoury scent, then a sweet one. Hak tails her with all the patience he sometimes pretends he doesn’t have. There are paper streamers underfoot and confetti flipping through the air. Someone is playing jubilant music by the square. Yona forgets the food as she nears it. 

The town is having a festival, she realizes—or rather, she remembers, though she isn’t sure what it is they’re celebrating. Street bards are singing, though the lyrics don’t point her in any one direction. The colours are those of all the tribes, tossed into the air by smiling men and women in simple robes made fanciful with embroidery. 

In the middle of the square, Yona pauses. People are wearing masks now. How had she not noticed before? Something about it nags at her—the fact she can’t see their faces, or maybe it’s the crowd that feels as though it’s pressing in on her now. The cloak feels heavy. Her hands clench around it as if to pull it tighter around herself, but there’s a conflicting feeling of wanting to throw it off, free her arms, reach for something at her hip—

“Princess?”

There’s nothing there; the feeling passes. Yona blinks at Hak from under the brim of her hood, and then she smiles. 

“You’re so slow, Hak,” she needles. “You call yourself a guard?”

“I call myself a babysitter,” he says and dodges Yona’s responding swipe.

With a sniff, she turns away from him resolutely to watch the bard, but there’s a familiar swish of  ivory robes and she spots Soowon through the crowd the same moment he spots the two of them. His mouth quirks, and he slips through the press of bodies to reach them.

Yona digs her slippered toe into the ground as Hak huffs an unsurprised laugh.

“You didn’t think I’d miss seeing my favourite friends when they are the reason I’m here?” Soowon scoffs good-naturedly. “I’m saddened. What faith you lack.”

Yona winces sheepishly. “I wanted to bring back a gift for you.”

“Your gift to me is being by my side,” he says, warming Yona from the pit of her stomach to her ears, which must be flaming redder than her hair. “Since we’re here, however, I suppose we might as well make the most of the festivities.”

“You spoil her too much,” sighs Hak as Yona claps her hands delightedly. 

“As if you don’t,” Soowon retorts with an amused smile. 

“Dare I say spoil is too kind a word?”

Yona doesn’t linger to listen to their good-natured bickering. She bounds among the partygoers with new zeal until her hair is full of coloured paper and she’s spontaneously dancing as the music picks up. A girl barely taller than Yona’s shoulder takes her hands and spins her about until they start giggling, and then Yona’s hands are in Soowon’s. Her own laughter elicits one from Soowon, infectious and bubbling. At a pause between songs, Yona spots Hak loitering at the edge of the crowd. Trading a conniving look with Soowon, Yona bounds over to drag him into the space cleared for dancing bodies.

She doesn’t know how long they dance for; long enough that her breath is coming in gasps and her feet are hurting, yet she doesn’t wish to quit. Only by Soowon’s request does she stop, and that’s with the promise of food. 

The trio drift from vendor to vendor. Their footsteps seem to take the beat of the drums in the square, and Yona feels the music in her chest in a way she can’t when it’s herself playing the instrument. Soon her fingertips are gummy with sweet and savoury residue, and Hak is tying her hands up in the act of cleaning them, forcing Soowon to feed a blushing Yona the last of her kebab.

The sun’s light is bleeding out the horizon by the time any of them remember Yona isn’t technically supposed to be wandering outside the palace. The townsfolk have lit their lamps, and the festivities don’t seem near an end, but both Hak and Soowon insist they return, and Yona concedes.

By the time they reach the palace gates, half the sky is a deep indigo sinking into an inky black. The guards let them pass with raised eyebrows. Nobody seems surprised by their late entry, and Soowon treats them with a dazzling smile.

Much too full of all the market treats, Yona foregoes supper and tea. Instead, she wanders the garden, humming music she fancies she can still hear from this side of the palace wall. Behind her, Hak and Soowon’s voices are deep and soft.

The pond is still, and in it is reflected the sky. Yona turns her gaze to diamonds embellishing the velvet of the night. They sparkle, though she does not know whether it’s her eyes playing tricks on her or the light truly is wavering. Regardless, the stars are beautiful, but they’re nothing compared to the moon.

It’s full and appears covered in frost. Something in Yona’s chest aches. She half expects the silver light to turn golden, but that would be impossible.

She turns at the sound of a chuckle. Sitting at the edge of the open hall, the two men share cups of sake. Hak is leaning against the support post, a grin evident in the rounded apple of his cheeks. Yona’s gaze drifts to the deep green of—

She blinks. Soowon’s hair is fair as sunlight. She doesn’t know why she expected anything different, but there’s something not quite right.

Confused and uncertain, Yona takes the moment to bid her two friends good night before padding down the hall towards her room.

She’s nearly there when she spots the gilded carvings twisting around the entrance to the throne room. Instead of retiring to her room, Yona cuts across the neatly trimmed grass to where the dragons shine in the moonlight. She stands there for a long time—long enough that her feet begin to ache—until her gaze drops to the shadowed doors of the throne room. They open quietly under her hands.

The room is empty.

Yona’s throat closes up and she’s running before she recognizes the fear coursing through her body. Her father’s rooms aren’t far away, but by the time she’s bursting through the doors, she’s gasping for breath and her legs are burning from the exertion. Her thoughts flicker between confusion—since when did so short a run exhaust her?—and terror that King Il will be gone from here too.

But her father is sitting at his desk, scrolls coiled loosely around him but for the one in his hands. He blinks up as Yona heaves for air in front of him, his own guards peeking in with barely concealed confusion. 

“Yona?” says her father. “Is something wrong?”

He rises from his seat, but Yona can only stare at him as he rounds the desk to rest his hands on her arms. 

“Yona?” he prompts gently, a concerned frown puckering his brow.

“I—I’m sorry,” gasps Yona. Somehow she’s surprised her father is here, talking to her. Where else would he be? “I’m...I had a nightmare.” Her gaze drifts to the scrolls. “What’s happening?”

Her father rubs her arms calmingly. He doesn’t glance at the scrolls. “Nothing.”

Yona frowns. “Nothing?”

“Nothing at all,” confirms the king. “The country is at peace.”

“Oh.” Her heartbeats slow. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Quite,” says her father with a smile. “Now, would you like a cup of warm milk to help you sleep? Or you can stay with me, though you might find the reading material to be dry.”

Yona swallows. “No, Father, thank you. I think I’ll just go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

“If you need anything else—”

“I will,” says Yona. “Thank you.”

His smile is as she remembers it, but she can’t get it out of her head as she leaves his room. Something seems amiss, no matter how much she tries to convince herself this is how it ought to be—this is how it  _ is _ . 

Unsettled, Yona bypasses her room once more to instead looking for Soowon and Hak. The moon watches her from its perch in the sky, higher than she thinks it should be at this hour. 

Neither man is sitting where she left them, though the sake bottle and cups remain. Yona kneels and touches a rim. It nearly drops to the grass below when she takes off running once more.

She finds Hak easily enough when she bursts into the throne room for the second time that night. Her friend stands at the edge of the dais, looking down the shallow steps that lead beneath the throne room. There’s that feeling again, of being unsettled, as Yona watches Hak reach a hand out towards the door’s crest.

“Don’t go in there,” she pleads. “Please don’t go inside.”

Hak turns his head to look at her, an eyebrow raising quizzically. Yona herself would also like to know what’s going on with her. Something about the shrine is calling to her, a hook in her gut reeling her in, but she has her feet planted firmly. She shouldn’t go inside, nor should Hak. What if neither of them leave?

She doesn’t know why that’s a fear of hers—or maybe she does, and she’s denying it to the bitter end.

“Princess?”

“Just don’t go in,” she says, soft hands curling into fists. “We need to find Soowon.”

“We  _ need _ to?”

“Yes.” Why? What’s so important? “Right now.”

Hak blinks at her, his brow furrowing with concern he rarely lets show. “Princess, he’s probably—”

“I don’t care where he probably is!” Yona snaps. Adrenaline is feeding into her veins, setting her on edge with nowhere to go. “Will you help me or not?”

She doesn’t wait to hear his answer because she knows he will always follow her. Always. No matter where life may take her outside these palace walls.

Soowon, however, will not. They check the guest wing, his room, the gardens he so enjoys, even the shooting range. Every item crossed off their list of possibilities drives Yona further into something she can’t fully comprehend. It feels like nervousness, but more, as if she won’t ever be able to get back what it is she’s on the brink of losing. 

“Princess,” says Hak when they leave the kitchen, “Why are you so desperate?”

Yona comes to a halt, the hem of her gown clean despite her rushing about carelessly. 

She’s afraid, she realizes, that something terrible will happen if she lets Soowon out of her sight.

“I just want to be sure,” says Yona, her voice too soft and too gentle to really express this fear. She looks up at Hak, whose face is smooth and clean as his hands, calloused as they are but free of dirt. He’s trying to mask his worry again.

“Soowon is safe,” says Hak, but he sounds uncertain. Yona can’t remember the last time she heard such a thing in his voice, or if she ever had.

Swallowing hard, Yona repeats, “I just want to be sure.”

She whisks back around and down the hall, where candlelight flickers like liquid over the polished wood. If she allows it, a thought comes to her—paper and wood walls lighting up in flames.  _ Not this lifetime _ , she thinks to herself, as if there’s any other life in which such a thing might happen. 

They’ve nearly searched the entire sprawling palace when Yona hears voices different from the hushed conversation between guards. She and Hak round a corner near the war room just as the doors open to allow Soowon and General Yuhon to exit. Soowon’s attention is fixed on his father, who has a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll do well,” the general says in that rough voice that only Soowon ever seemed to take with affection.

Then he turns to see Hak and Yona watching. Her uncle bows, the scars of his face falling into sharp relief, before passing them.

His clothes are clean and untarnished, as if they’d never seen war. Yona fixates on this more than she should, just as she can’t get the image of General Yuhon with hair flecked through with more grey than she remembers. This is not a man she knows.

When she turns back around, Soowon is watching the receding back of his father with a strange expression. His lips are slightly parted, as if unsure whether to grimace or smile, and his eyes are heavy-lidded. To Yona, it’s a bittersweet look. There should be no reason for Soowon to wear such an expression. 

His eyes meet Yona’s, and his smile is a sad one. “What a sweet dream this has been.”

The back of her throat aches something fierce, her eyes burn, but no tears come. She won’t; she can’t. 

The moon’s gaze is silver here, and Hak drinks with a different man. Her father occupies the same halls as her uncle. The country is at peace.

And it’s wrong.

“So it is,” whispers Yona.

Soowon doesn’t hear her—that or he chooses not to. She doesn’t blame him. Something in her yearns to cling to this façade, lest the fear and anger take over again, as it had before. This dream is a cruel one.

What could have been, had it not been for—

No—for now, this is real. Yona squeezes her eyes shut as Soowon rests a hand on her shoulder, and then he’s gone. The air is cool where his hand laid. Nobody says good night.

Hak follows Yona all the way to her room, coming to a stop as she enters alone. She stands in the middle of all her finery and comfort, the windows open to allow cool moonlight to touch the shadows where warm candlelight cannot. Systematically, Yona snuffs all the candles prepared for her until it’s only the night sky that lights her room. 

It’s too quiet. There are far less crickets here, no owls or raccoons or other creatures of the night to forage about while she tries to sleep. The floor itself is soft beneath softer feet. She has no idea what stones feel like under her heels. 

She has so much space, but it’s smothering her. Changing out of her day clothes into her thinner nightgown—even shedding the hairpin and bangle—does nothing to assuage the sensation.

When she goes to her door, Hak is still standing outside as if he has plans to guard her the whole night. He looks down when the door opens and their gazes meet—exhausted, both of them. 

“Stay with me?”

He doesn’t argue, and the door shuts behind him. Yona crawls into her bed hesitantly, as if the material might swallow her whole. The bed dips with Hak’s weight as he settles alongside her. Already she feels his heat permeating through the barrier of her nightgown as he allows the distance between them to shrink further than any reality might dare. 

Yona tries to gain comfort from his nearness, but her heart is constricting and her mouth is dry and her eyes are burning. 

“Hak,” she whispers, “whose fault is it? That everything fell apart?”  _ How is it that this future is a false one? _ “Is it my father’s for leading wrong? Is it mine, that I was blind to Soowon’s pain?”

Something heavy settles over Yona’s waist—she recognizes it as Hak’s arm just as he pulls her to him. His chest burns her back. 

“Nothing happened because of you,” says Hak, his voice rumbling between their bodies. Yona closes her eyes as if she might be able to soak in the sound. “It’s happened  _ to _ you. It’s happened to all of us.”

Not daring to speak, Yona can only respond with a jerky nod. Hak’s arm curls tighter around her. She feels his breath in her hair.

She wonders if should a different morning come, he might stay this way with her. 

She wonders if this isn’t the dream.

She wonders what it is she hopes for.

With the scent of a far off festival in her nose, and the heat of another body at her back, Yona has to admit that this truly is bittersweet.

* * *

When Yona wakes up— _ really _ wakes up—it’s to the canopy of a tent and sweat dewing at her brow. Her limb is heavy as lead when she lifts it to brush the moisture from her skin. Her throat is dry and begging for water. Cautious of her weakness, Yona pushes herself to sit up. Nuts that had been framing her face fall into the dip left by her head. Everything is cast in a hazy amber glow—sunlight filtering through the thinned patches of the tent’s fabric.

She catches something dark in her periphery and looks over to see Hak. Like her, he’s practically swaddled in blankets and sweating. Yona wonders if her face looks as gaunt. Reaching over, she rests her palm on his forehead. While clammy, he doesn’t seem to be burning up.

Her lip wobbles. She’s glad— _ so glad. _

But she’s also sad, in that heavy, all encompassing way that presses in and sticks, even when there’s a reason to smile and laugh. Heat is at her eyes, but she breathes in deep and doesn’t let it spill over.

The tent flap flings open, allowing unfiltered sunlight to stream in around the silhouette of a familiar friend. When he notices Yona is upright, Yoon nearly bowls her over in his attempt to get her to lie back down.

“You still need to rest,” he insists, setting a bowl of soup in her lap when it’s clear she isn’t about to go back to sleep willingly.

“I’ve rested long enough,” says Yona. She pauses before asking, “How long exactly…?”

“A full day.” Yoon purses his lips as he presses a hand to her forehead. “Your fever broke, but you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I’m not,” says Yona with a wry smile. “I promise. How’s Hak?”

Yoon looks to their juggernaut warrior. “He caught sick shortly after you. If I’m being honest, he probably hid it until  _ you _ decided to make camp and  _ then _ collapse.”

“At least I stopped this time?” attempts Yona sheepishly.

Yoon levels her with a stern glare. “It’s a step up, I’ll admit. Next time, you’d better tell me if you’re feeling even the  _ tiniest _ bit out of sorts. Got it?”

“Got it,” says Yona meekly.

“Good.”

Yoon leaves her to her supper. Yona hears him bark at someone to stop playing with their food. It’s familiar, safe, and welcoming. She’s here and lucid and with her family. As it should be.

But she gazes at the reflection in her gently rippling soup, at her chopped and messy hair, at her clammy skin and weary eyes, at the tough calloused fingers holding the bowl still. It doesn’t matter how content she is in the moment, she knows this.

There will always be something more happening, drawing them in, putting them in danger.

Yona thinks of the bangle decorated with dragon scales. She should be happy that she has her precious family with her now, beside her and more just beyond that tent flap. She should be happy they still exist in the presence of each other, with bonds forged stronger than any she could have dreamed.

Yet she can’t help but feel the loss of a life of peace. The heat and the ache intensify, and there’s nothing Yona can do any longer to keep the tears at bay.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> [me tumblr](http://bitterbeetle.tumblr.com) complete w some akayona [edits](http://bitterbeetle.tumblr.com/tagged/anyedit) bc who am i to deny my muse


End file.
